Chapter 24 - The Dockside Ultimatum
The tension on the South Loop docks was thick enough to cut with a knife. Dante Salvatore scoffed, stepping closer to the edge of the shipping container.
“You think you can intimidate me with corporate threats, Dominic? Times have changed. The old families are backing me, and your little legal empire is built on sand.”
“Sand?” A crisp, cold voice cut through the wind before Dominic could reply.
A sleek black town car slid to a halt right behind Dominic’s Escalade. The rear door opened, and Claire Russo stepped out into the freezing wind. She wasn't wearing a gray, submissive dress or a frightened coat. She wore a tailored black wool trench coat, her hair tied back neatly, her expression devoid of any fear. She walked with absolute, unshakeable poise straight to Dominic’s side, slipping her gloved hand into his.
Dante stared down at her, momentarily taken aback. “Claire Russo. I expected you to be cowering in your mansion.”
“You expected a frightened girl,” Claire said, her voice ringing out clear and piercing across the concrete. “My father traded me to settle a debt a decade ago. I learned a long time ago how to survive monsters like your grandfather. And men like you? You’re just second-rate replicas.”
Dante’s face flushed with fury. He raised his hand, signaling his enforcers to level their weapons. “Kill them. Take the docks!”
Before Dante’s men could pull their triggers, the overhead floodlights of the entire dock complex flickered off, plunging the yard into sudden, disorienting darkness.
A chorus of metallic clicks echoed from the shadows as Adrian Cross’s tactical unit—flanked by the elite security enforcers loyal to Dominic—surrounded Dante’s men from every angle, red laser sights painting a hundred little dots across their chests.
“Wrong move, kid,” Adrian’s voice drawled from the darkness behind Dante.
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Dominic didn't wait. He closed the distance with terrifying speed, scaling the container stairs before Dante could react, grabbing him by the collar, and slamming him against the rusted metal wall with bone-crushing force.
“Tell your grandfather in Palermo,” Dominic whispered, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against Dante’s jaw, “that Chicago belongs to my family. And if any of you ever set foot on these shores again, you won't leave alive.”
